


Fight For It

by CalcitriteDiscordia



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Don't Ask, F/M, I'm Weird, M/M, No Diccolo for you sorry, Other, Reader is asexual, There's only like four Piccfics or so on here, also hopefully I did the gender neutral thing again, and that makes me sad, don't ask me what you are I literally just made this race up, fighting as a form of courtship, reader is not human, so I pulled this out of my ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalcitriteDiscordia/pseuds/CalcitriteDiscordia
Summary: Reader is a humanoid alien known only as a 'Blood Knight' who chooses their mates, friends, and allies via brutal sparring.You'd like very much to spar with Piccolo - turns out, he's getting hip to your game.





	Fight For It

**Author's Note:**

> This little dirt pile came about by me reading nearly every single Piccolo x reader fanfic this site has to offer, which sadly isn't much - but what's here is good, and I wanted to contribute, because I would very much like to cuddle the alien.
> 
> Hope you like it! I'm not as nervous about posting this one.

Every muscle in your body screamed for relief when you stretched - you've overdone your training again. As a Blood Knight, fighting was your greatest pleasure in the most literal sense; unlike humans, you didn't entertain lustful thoughts. Sex was a tool for reproduction instead of an oft-sought method of stress relief or physical bonding, and played very little part in your life.

No, you much preferred to spar. To you, that was the most intimate form of contact one could have with a person. If you wanted to discover all you could about someone, you fought them. It revealed their most valuable traits - were they honorable, or did they resort to dirty tricks? Were they clever strategists, or did they develop a predictable pattern? Were they graceful or beastly in their approach?

You like to think yourself a Knight of culture and refinement, despite your place in the galaxy as nature's own personal cleanup crew. Your kind did away with the genocidal and the stagnant, evolving long lives and durable bodies to withstand eons of dunking on races less suitable for prolonged survival.

So when you fell in love with a Namekian, you knew you were in for quite a ride - assuming, that is, you could even get his attention in the first place. He was a force of nature wrapped in zen, and you were an apocalyptic inferno that could not be extinguished. You had to burn off some excess energy before you attempted to speak to him about your feelings unless you wanted to be overwhelmed by your own passion.

Piccolo had invited you to spar with him. The fact rolled around in your brain like a loose marble, unable to find a clear place to settle because he had no idea, of * _course_ * he wouldn't know what this meant to you!

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pounding heart before you were scheduled to meet the Namekian for your... Totally friendly sparring match.

 _'He didn't mean anything by it, I'm being ridiculous. There's no way he could know what it means, so why am I still so damn hopeful? I'm not a teenager anymore.'_ You stroll with purpose to the clearing in the woods where you were supposed to meet Piccolo, and your attempts at talking yourself up for the match worked about as well as you trying to dissuade yourself from being excited that you would be getting a little one-on-one time with the Jolly Green himself.

You scrub your face with your hands, leaning against a tree. This is stupid. He was going to see how disarrayed you were, scoff at your inability to be prepared (or for preparing _t_ _o_ _o_  much and exhausting yourself), and leave you in your embarrassed misery.

"Good, you're here. I was hoping I wouldn't have to drag you out of the training grounds today." Ah. That rough voice is music to your ears - when it's not chastising you for overdoing it.

"I blew off some steam," you explain, keeping your voice as level as you could manage, "I didn't want to end up destroying the forest when we fought, y'know?"

Piccolo's dark eyes scan your form, bringing heat to your cheeks. His gaze seemed to linger a little longer than usual on your frame before meeting your eyes again - didn't it?

Truth be told, the Namekian in question quite literally had no (eloquent) way of telling you that, for a humanoid race, you did in fact hold a certain appeal to him. You were dedicated, determined, strong, and clever - everything a warrior should be, and you'd long ago earned his respect. It was through his friends that he discovered what romantic love was and how it could be expressed, but how did one go about wooing a nonhuman who didn't seem interested in things like flowers and dating?

Then he realized the singular thing that seemed to kickstart your emotions in various ways. Fighting. Combat. You were a force to be reckoned with, but every match brought a new expression to your face. Joy. Disgust. Hatred. Fear, once or twice. Excitement. He began to wonder what you'd look like if you fought him, and if he could determine whether or not you would return his affections through battle.

"Maybe you should've blown off a little more, your energy is all over the place. This is a pointless exercise unless you're focused." He ventured bluntly, and was pleased to note the tic of your brow that told him you were hiding aggravation.

Exercise. _Exercise?!_  What did he think this was, a _game_?! You swallowed your rage and set your jaw; you had to remember that others didn't see combat the way you did.

"I'm focused. Are we going to do this, or are you going to bore me with small talk? Never thought it much your style." You shoot back, taking some dark delight in the way his expression shifts to one of stunned disbelief. Then, much to your confusion, he seems pleased.

He gives you no warning before he dives at you, and you barely parry his fist, ramming your wrapped knuckles into his ribs. The fight is brutal. Raw. You find yourself breathing heavier, a sick joy blossoming in your chest regardless of whether it's you or him that's taking the beating.

You grin when your forehead connects with his, lick your lips when one is split and bloodied.

It's all the information he needs to conclude that this - this is as close to courtship as your race can get. You choose the worthy by blood drawn, and it's the first blood that he draws from you that ends your match. He gets his confirmation when you brush your wounded lip gently with a fingertip and smile like you've won the lottery, and your big bright eyes focus on his impossibly dark ones.

"I haven't been hit like that in years," you laugh, and it's musical in a way Piccolo isn't used to.

Tentatively, he reaches out to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, movements slow and slightly jerky as he's not used to tender gestures, but he wants to try - Kami, he wants to try. For you. You, with the beautiful eyes and the fierce spirit and the melodic laugh that makes him wonder what would happen if he just... Held you.

You take notice of his silence, of his out-of-place gesture. Piccolo, initiating physical contact? Such things were unheard of.

"You're awfully touchy today," you muse, and he retracts his hand as if he's been burned.

"I - You just - your hair is messy." Nice save. In another life, perhaps you'd have bought the terrible cover-up just to save the poor guy some embarrassment.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." But not in this life. "I mean, it was actually kind of nice. I don't usually get soft touches, you know?"

Nervous, the Namekian extended his hand again, gently tracing the outline of your cheekbone. Kami, he was bad at this, but you were nuzzling into his hand and sighing and -

You're cute. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. You're _cute_. Your eyes have closed and it would be so easy to lean in and figure out first-hand what a kiss felt like.

"...I like it when you touch me. I've decided." You say simply, keeping your eyes closed for fear the contact would end. You begin to speak, to fill the silence that's releasing butterflies into your stomach, only to find yourself silenced by a pair of soft, warm lips upon your own.

Your shocked murmur is swallowed by the kiss, feather-light and clumsy in the way all first kisses are, but there is something undeniably sweet about the way Piccolo cradles you to his chest.

"I'm... Sorry. I shouldn't have-" He begins, voice unsteady, but you interrupt him.

"Yes, you should've. And you should do it again."

Blunt and to the point, just like the man you'd grown to love. It was one of the things he admired about you.

"Stay with me."

You haven't the desire to tell him no.


End file.
